


Scars

by SweetSinger2010



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 03:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14096181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSinger2010/pseuds/SweetSinger2010
Summary: There's a scar on Hera's belly and her tiny son wants to know why.





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> I've gotten behind with posting my fics here --sigh-- This was written in the midst of me processing more "Jedi Night" feels. The finale slayed me and I still can't believe we got a Kanera baby. I also have a lot of feelings about Hera being a mommy; hence, lots and lots of writing.

Scars

She hadn’t known pain like this existed. Truly, she hadn’t.

She’d been in pain before. She’d been tough about it, too; there’d never been time to complain, anyway. Her torture at the hands of Pryce and Thrawn still lingered in recent memory. _That_ had been painful. Sometimes she woke in the night feeling like her throat was still raw from the screams. But this—this was something different. Other-worldly, almost. The only thing she could compare it to was the emotional pain she felt when she watched Kanan die; maybe this was a physical manifestation of that.

She’d never felt anything like it and hoped she never would again. She tried everything to make it even the tiniest bit tolerable: standing, sitting, kneeling, walking, swaying, lying down. But each contraction gripped her harder than the last. The wrenching pain, the pressure, the gasping for breath—it all made her feel like she was going to shatter, break, utterly fail the little life inside of her.

And then after eighteen hours of that, they’d asked her to start pushing.

Right then and there, Hera Syndulla burst into tears. There wasn’t a whole lot more she could take.

It was normal, they said, for a woman’s first labor to take a long time. But Hera didn’t _feel_ normal. She felt something wasn’t right, but no one—except Sabine, who looked very, very concerned—believed her until the beginning of the second hour of pushing, when the baby was no closer to delivery than before. They put her on oxygen, had her take a brief rest, made her try several different positions. An impending sense of dread grew strong—almost stronger than the pain—each time she bore down. Her instincts and her body were screaming _wrong wrong wrong_ but the medics and the droid kept assuring her, _You’re doing great._

She almost felt vindicated when the hemorrhage started.

She didn’t remember much after that.

* * *

Hera fought through a thick sense of grogginess and disorientation to make it back to consciousness. She opened her eyes, staring at the wall, but otherwise didn’t move. She didn’t want anyone to know she was awake. She wasn’t ready to face the world after—after—

 _Fetal heart-rate bottoming out._ She’d dimly heard someone say. _Mother in distress._

Curled on her side, Hera wrapped her arms around herself and was rewarded with pain for the effort. But it wasn’t just physical. There, where her baby had been, where she’d gotten used to the kicking and fluttering and stretching of the tiny person in her womb, was nothing. Just an incision, a scar. She felt empty, hollow, gutted. Raw.

She’d lost their child, she knew. Labor had been hard, and then _so much_ blood when it all went wrong. It was too much to hope that the baby had survived this, too, on top of what the Empire had dealt them those long months ago.

 _Oh, Kanan. Kanan._ Her heart cried. _I’m so sorry._

Hot tears fell across the bridge of her nose and she swiped them away. The slight movement was enough, apparently, to alert Sabine to her wakeful state.

“Are you awake over there?” Her voice, coming from the other side of the bed, was hushed.

Hera hummed her acknowledgment, but didn’t move.

There was a relieved sigh. “You scared me to death.” Sabine sounded grim. Hera didn’t answer, prompting her to sigh again before she continued. “Labor was hard on the baby. And on _you._ Gods—I could tell by looking at you that you weren’t okay. You weren’t getting enough oxygen, either of you. You started bleeding—they called it a placenta something—and they rushed you into surgery to deliver the baby.”

More tears welling, Hera turned slowly onto her back, gasping at the pain shooting everywhere through her body. She pressed her hands to her abdomen, providing counter-pressure against the incision site. The whole process left her feeling dizzy and hot and sick. She squeezed her eyes closed as she settled against her pillow, concentrating on breathing.

“Hera?” Sabine’s concern was almost palpable.

“I just need a minute,” she said. Her voice was little more than a cracked whisper. She was going to need more than a minute if she was going to get through this, if she was going to—

A tiny, whimpering grunt derailed her train of thought.

“Seems like somebody missed mama’s voice,” Sabine said in soft awe.

Hera’s eyes flew open and she turned her head to look at Sabine, sitting in a chair nearby. There was a tiny bundle in her arms. Maybe it was exhaustion or relief or the upheaval of hormones—Hera started to cry.

“I—thought—I—lost—the baby—”

“Oh, _stars_ , Hera,” Sabine breathed, horrified. “Don’t you remember? You asked me about him hours ago.”

Hera blinked uncomprehendingly. “Him?”

Sabine stood and walked carefully to Hera’s bedside. “Hera, this is your son.”

Every broken thing was made _right_ when she felt the baby’s weight settle on her chest. Gasping, trying desperately not to cry, Hera used trembling fingers to gently pull away the baby’s blanket. She traced his chubby cheeks, counted his ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes. He looked human; Hera was glad. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see herself in her child, but she _did_ want to see Kanan. The baby had his tanned skin, rounded ears, angular brows. He also had a downy headful of dark—was it dark _green?_ —baby-fine hair. Hera laughed at that, tears rolling down her cheeks. The baby’s eyes opened at the sound. His gaze was unfocused and the color of his eyes indeterminate for now, but he was looking straight at his mother and his mouth formed a perfect, tiny “o” as he yawned, blinking at her.

She was utterly captivated by him.

“Hello, my love,” she whispered. “It’s so nice to meet you.” She pulled the front of her gown open enough to let him nuzzle his cheek against her chest and the skin-to-skin contact made Hera feel that every moment of pain and fear during labor, during her pregnancy, during those last few days with Kanan had been absolutely worth it.

“He’s perfect, Hera,” Sabine murmured. “You did good.”

“ _We_ did good,” she corrected softly, “Kanan and I.”

 “What’s his name?”

Hera paused. She’d made her choice, of course, but she’d never spoken it aloud to anyone. “Jacen,” she said, caressing his little hand. “Jacen Syndulla.”

“I like it.” Sabine cleared her throat and wiped under her eyes. “It suits him.”

“Jacen.” Hera kissed the top of his head. _My son._ She thought. _Kanan’s son. Our son._

She didn’t remember dozing off, but she woke when he started to squirm, turning his face into her skin—

Oh.

She sat up straighter and gasped in pain—she’d forgotten what her body had been through. She looked at Sabine. “I—think he’s hungry—” Her face flushed in deep embarrassment. “But I don’t really—know what to—”

Sabine nodded, understanding. She stood up. “I’ll go get someone.”

Hera watched her leave and then, for the first time, she was alone with her son. She nudged a finger into his grasp and he held tightly. Her chest constricted. “First,” she said breathlessly, “I love you. I love you. And I promise to always tell you.” He fell still, as if he knew she was pouring her heart out to him and was eagerly listening. “And I promise—to tell you all about your father. He would have _loved_ you. I think…I think he knew you were on your way to us, and—” She stopped, breathing deeply. “He wanted to keep you safe. He gave everything he had to keep you safe. I promise to keep you safe. This galaxy—it’s a scary place right now, love. I’m sorry. But I promise to always, _always_ do what I can to keep you safe in it.”

Sabine came in then, bringing a female medic with her to help Hera with breastfeeding. Hera couldn’t quite say that she _enjoyed_ it, but feeling his skin against hers, seeing the way his eyes seemed to lock on hers, feeling how completely he depended on and trusted her—it was worth all of the fear and the pain and the scar that now ached dully as holding the baby put pressure on the site.

For the first time since she’d found out she was pregnant, Hera’s heart was full of something like happiness.

* * *

She warred with herself over the next months about how she felt about the scar giving birth to Jacen had left her. It wasn’t pretty. The birth hadn’t been what she’d planned. She hated that, sometimes—and then she glanced at the baby in his bassinet and forgot all about it until the next time she got in the shower, happened to see herself in the mirror.

She wondered what Kanan would think about—about how the contours of her body had changed. Her chest was fuller now, but not as pert. Her middle was soft and round still. And the scar was…dark and glaring against her skin. Slightly raised, she traced it with her fingertips. Imagined how Kanan might have done the same. He wouldn’t have been able to _see_ it, of course, but he’d have been able to feel. She felt girlishly insecure at the thought. But she could almost picture him shaking his head at her with a tender smile.

_You fought for Jacen’s life; battles leave scars, Hera. It’s okay._

Yes, he’d probably say something almost exactly like that. And then he’d bow his head so she could reach to run her fingers over the scar on his eyes, silently reminding her that he understood; of course he did.

 _Why are you being so pushy about this?_ He demanded once, still recovering from Malachor and eager to hide his wound. She’d gently pried the mask from his face and he snapped at her, _Don’t do that. It’s just a reminder—_

_A reminder that you faced something horrible and **lived.**_

Hera pressed her hands over her scar as she looked at Jacen, sleeping nearby; both reminders of what she’d lived through. What she _was_ living through. She was still grieving over Kanan, still overwhelmed learning how to be Jacen’s mother and General Syndulla, still trying not to lose sleep at night worrying about what might have become of Ezra. She was still grappling with the darkness that closed around her when she considered that the Rebellion could fail—what would that mean for her child’s future?

In those moments, when the fear and the darkness and the loss seemed too much, she cradled her baby against her chest and she felt her scar and she clung to what they meant: life. Surrounded by death, she’d created and supported life.

After a while, Hera stopped feeling bothered by the scar.

* * *

She was staying up late at night like she was twenty-one again, not thirty-one. Her body protested often, demanding an increased caffeine intake to counter the heaviness of her eyelids and dull headache she felt each morning. But her mind needed time and space to herself; for a brief time each day, she needed to not be Jacen’s mother, or General Syndulla, or Cham Syndulla’s daughter or anyone other than just plain Hera.

Hera’s favorite indulgence was a decadently long, hot shower after Jacen’s bedtime.

They were on Lothal now, Hera getting ready to leave Jacen with Sabine for the time being. Echo Base was near completion, and Hera needed to be there to help oversee the setup of flight-ops. She’d been able to keep Jacen close through most of the war, but intuition warned against it now. Just as well; he and Sabine were completely infatuated with each other and they’d both been begging for a visit for months. It made her feel sick, but Hera was grateful knowing that if anything ever happened to her, Jacen would be well-loved and looked after by Sabine.

Lost in thought and bone-tired, Hera showered slowly and for so long that the hot water started to make her pulse race. She got out and toweled off, smoothing on her favorite scented lotion before she put her undergarments on. She wanted the lotion to settle into her skin before pulling on leggings and a shirt, so she opened the fresher door to let the steam escape while she went through the rest of her night routine. She’d just finished brushing her teeth when she heard Jacen’s tiny, padding footsteps approaching. She frowned immediately; it was unlike him to wake in the night. And she hesitated as he appeared in the doorway, glancing at her pajamas and robe slung over the back of the sani. Jacen was still so small—not quite three—that he wouldn’t bat an eyelash at her state of semi-dress, but Hera’s sense of modesty struggled against her desire to keep from inadvertently teaching her son that bodies are shameful. She decided not to grab for her clothes.

Jacen, of course, was oblivious to all her inner musings.

“Mama,” he said, rubbing one eye with a balled-up fist. “You gotta go?”

She turned toward him, nodding. “I do, love.”

He rocked on his feet as he clenched a plush toy tightly in one hand. “I can come.” He looked up at her, blue eyes full of hopeful resolve. “I can help.”

“You,” Hera said, nearly choking on the lump in her throat, “are my _favorite_ helper.” The only thing keeping her from scooping him up in her arms was his rigid posture, one that Kanan always said was her _touch-me-not_ stance. “And right now I need you to stay here and help me keep an eye on Sabine.”

He smacked his lips, thinking. “I love Bean,” he said.

“I know you do. She loves you, too.”

“Yeah.” He brightened. “Chop can stay?”

Hera felt her heart plummet even further. “Mama needs Chopper.”

“He’s a good helper,” Jacen allowed grudgingly.

“I’ll still be here for two more sleeps, though, okay?” Hera searched her child’s eyes and he nodded glumly.

“I can sleep with you?”

She’d worked hard the last year and a half at getting him to sleep and stay in his own room, but couldn’t deny this request. “Go and wait for me. I’ll sing to you.”

He grinned at that. He loved hearing her sing, always marveling at the sweet-sounding Ryl words. “Ok— _oh_.” He stopped suddenly, eyes widening as he looked at her middle. Confused, Hera glanced down to follow his gaze.

Ever so slightly visible above her underwear was her surgical scar, the single reminder of Jacen’s difficult delivery. Her hands brushed the area self-consciously; she hadn’t thought of it in ages. Jacen had never seen it.

His brows drew together in a deep frown as he stepped toward her. His toy slipped unheeded from his grasp and he used both hands to prod her skin curiously, palms resting on her hips as his fingertips carefully felt the dark, raised scar. He looked up at her. “Ouch,” he said plaintively. “Bad ouch.” With one hand, he pulled up his pant-leg to reveal a pink, still-healing scar on his shin earned in an unfortunate trip-and-fall accident just weeks ago. Looking back and forth, he compared the wounds before he put his hand on her belly again. “Hurts?”

“No,” she said, keeping her voice even. “Not anymore.”

He was clearly skeptical. “For sure?”

“It _did_ hurt, long ago. But it’s all better now.”

“Hm.” He poked and prodded her some more, concern beginning to show in his face. “It hurt lots?”

“Lots,” she admitted honestly. “But it’s all better now. Just like your leg feels much better. I promise.”

He tipped his head back, staring up into her eyes. “What happened, mama?”

“That’s—” She hesitated, not quite knowing how to answer. They’d never talked about this before. There hadn’t been a reason. “It’s from when you were born.”

His hands pulled back jerkily and his lower lip wobbled. “ _I_ did it? I hurt?”

Hera gasped softly. “Oh, my love. _No._ No, no, no.” She knelt in front of him, closing his hands in hers. “You—” She stopped, humming. How to explain this to a toddler. “You had to be born very quickly so I could hold you and make sure you were okay. The doctor had to give me the scar. But it’s okay,” she said quickly, seeing tears well in his eyes, “It hurt but I didn’t care. I just wanted to hold my Jacen.”

Confusion showed clearly on his face. “I’m—sorry,” he said very quietly.

She cupped his chin in her hand. “I’m _not._ Never.”

He fingered the scar one more time. “Doesn’t hurt?”

“No, love.”

“You love me lots, mama,” he said, winding his arms around her neck.

“Always, always, always.” She held him tightly. “I’m sorry I have to go away.”

He nodded against her neck and shoulder. “I’ll take care of Bean.”

“Thank you.” She picked him up and stood carefully. “Let’s go to bed now, love.”

Supporting him with one hand, she grabbed her clothes with the other and got dressed after she set him down on the bed. When she lay down beside him, he curled close, patting a hand on one of her lek. It was a self-soothing gesture left over from when he was only months old and still breastfeeding. She remembered how his tiny hand would grip and pat the end of whichever lek was closest, how he seemed to know not to pull or clasp too hard, how he’d look up at her with his big, perfect eyes as they shared that intimate and tender mother-child bond.

She stroked her thumb across the bridge of his nose. She hummed, thinking of Kanan. “Your daddy had a scar.”

Jacen’s eyes were sleepy, but interested. “On his tummy?”

“No,” she said. “It was here.” She traced her fingers on his closed lids. “It was on his eyes.”

“Whoa.”

“Yeah.”

The inevitable question: “Wha’ happened?”

Hera hummed. “That’s a long story, love. Too long for tonight, but I promise to tell it soon.”

“When you get back?” His voice was heavy and thick as he hung on the edge of sleep.

“When I get back. Shh.”

He was soon asleep and Hera held her small boy, clinging to hope that her promise of _soon_ wouldn’t be broken and that her leaving this time wouldn’t become a scar on both their hearts. The future was so uncertain—

But Hera couldn’t make herself worry about the future just yet. She’d have to go back to being General Syndulla soon enough, but for now, for the next two sleeps, she was still Jacen’s mother. She held to that and she held to him and she held to hope as she drifted to a dreamless sleep.


End file.
